


I'll See You In The Morning

by Voltatlas



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dank Memes, F/F, F/M, Fokkin Tags Pr3pzz, Like a hell of a lot of innuends man, M/M, Sexual Content, bishonen, innuendos, yaoi hands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-04-02 08:07:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4052734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voltatlas/pseuds/Voltatlas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They often say, "love transcends countless infinities."</p><p>So, why is this so wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Snuggies Only Hide So Much

**Author's Note:**

> Yaoi. Male x Male.  
> Lemon.  
> Don't like don't read.
> 
> Thx in advanny for any comments, kudos or just reds in genral. Omfg. :3c

It was a dark and stormy night, when you ran into him. Rain was pattering in steady euphonious melodies off the top of clay-tiled roofs, music fluttering into the air in a despondent ode to the ghostly silence of a tireless day. You pulled your jacket tighter around you, a few ticks of pride away from pulling the lengthy zip up the cotton coat. 

Then, it was a brush of shoulders, a jostle of weight, a definitive touch that had you looking back as your clunk feet bowed forward on the pavement. You passed him – a figure of anonymity with veneer soft and light in the dimness of the moon’s lustful shine. He paused, and so did you, faces turning to meet each other’s gave with words of apology sitting on the edge of your tongue, but shared in a swallow to the back of your taste buds, the sight of either of you, crossing words in each other’s eyes. 

To you, he was tall. He was a near heavenly, if not, a horrendous humanitarian iteration of a god so puny on Earth’s claim. He was an average height, somewhere around 5’6”, perhaps? Something considerably taller than your crude, unforgiving 4’3 which made anything above 5’0”, a dusty scream into the wild against the trades of your smaller frame. Not that you really, truly minded it, much. You were a wee thing, sure; but you like to say the inches of degradation of being shoved furthest to your quaking gay asshole, only made it that much easier to fumble emphatically with the aforementioned gay asshole.

Which, all in all, was irrevocably and unceremoniously a big fucking gay asshole; not going to lie. So much so, it’s somewhat nonsensical that you are actually walking about in the dead of the night, without a self-entitled rating of your bodacious bum with a salacious slur slathering it from cheek to cheek. Like, one of those dukes that are unfurling at the crudely scissor-ed pant legs, chopped in a way that supplies a ravenous category of V-necks with “Toot Princess” bedazzled across the back.

Alternatively, pajama pants fueling the steadily overgrowing populous with the way the shapely fabric cups your ass with the bolded “Booty Queen” cupping each firm mountain top. 

Kidding. Obviously, you would never find yourself in something like that publically, and not confined within the unpadded walls of your dusty apartment complex. Aside from it being out-of-character (OOC; slang coined by the roleplaying community on Tumblr), you being Dirk-BrotherFucking-Strider, and you are cagey to the point of erotic abstinence when it comes to booty call; you doubt anyone would accept you as the ‘Booty Queen.’ It’s stupid, but John Egbert across the street still thinks he owns the title. 

Dude gets fucking cat ears and he thinks he owns the ass scene. You admit that it makes the boy kind of kawaii, you guess and makes even you, an Olympic bottom, kind of want to mow that lawn. But, whatever. You don’t need that drama. 

Not to mention, you’re not a hoe.

If you were any kind of gardening tool, your probably would be a hose? 

You like spraying people, you guess. 

Either way, you waste no time in tugging your thong from your ass crack, supplying little error into your work as you transition tenses after a cagey as fuck internal rant. Your mouth opens with a small whine, ‘McFreakin Gawd’ right there. You’re so close. You have to let it snap back, brushing your crop top against your naked abdomen before you lose it.

You smiled up at him. He looks at you plainly. You catch a droplet of water on your tongue. He turns away, swallowing loudly. 

Watersports, huh? You smirk. 

As you said before, he was tall, maybe like 5’10 or something. Something, tall, you don’t know. You just know tall guys have big fucking pricks. At least, that’s what you read on Cosmos, so you’re just gonna say he’s tall. 

He towers over your shorter frame, like holy fuck. He’s got ashy blonde hair, and vibrant red eyes that you can’t see because they’re hidden behind his shades and he’s wearing a suit. A jogger’s suit. Probably because he’s jogging, like right now. He’s currently running in place. 

You are jogging too actually, feet hopping in your light up Sketcher sneakers, as you look up him, staring at him as you feel through the context of this introduction with horribly drafted exposition. 

“Sorry,” you say, pulling one of his ear buds out because he was listening to some jamming music whilst he ran.

He nods at your thong, and you blush. 

“Can I have that?” His voice is sultry – deep, masculine, and every generic thing that encompasses male characters in works of fiction. Like, he even has bulging, rippling muscles and tiddies that don’t quit. You’d be irritated with his characterization, if you weren’t pretty set on driving this fiction toward some theatrical tussle in the bedroom. 

He’s hot, man. You take what you can get. 

“Sure, Brad.” You blush again, ears on fire. He slaps you across the face, using a water jutsu. Your hero.

“My name’s not Brad,” you furrow your eyes up at him as your dick barely conceals itself within your bedazzle Snuggie™, legs pulling from the loops of your thong. You snap it at him, like it was a rubber band. But, you don’t do that. 

Your dick flops loose. 

“It’s Dave.” 

“I know.” You did know. He was your brother.

“See you at home.” 

You nod, handing off your thong that he wastes no time in sliding over his jogger’s pants and you blush, because the strings really outline his pelvic bone.

“See you, daddy.”


	2. Ass Like Peaches

It’s late when you finally get home. Except, it wasn’t really. You just followed your bro, heels clacking behinds you when he turned away. You even looped your finger through the strap running down the back of the thong. He looked back at you and you blushed like a radish. 

The keys jingle in rhythm with the clack of your Light Up Sketcher™ heels, the vibrant light making Bro wince when he looks down at your Tuggie™. You push him aside, taking the keys from the door because he was taking too long. 

“Oh my god, stop being so pushy,” he yells at you and you wince. He grimaces as a single lone tear is produced from your eye and he barely has time to catch it in his globally obstructing yaoi hand before the 500L droplet from your eye drowns level 7 of your condominium complex. 

You blush, and he shakes his head at you, stroking your chin, whilst one hand discards of the droplet and the other slides under your crop top to touch your nip nop. You shiver and he bites his lip.

“B-Bro,” you stutter. “Your third hand.”

“Shut up, whore!” Slap! Slap! Slap! Squish!

You open eyes you didn’t know was closed to find him biting into a peach. He chews slowly, and you watch, eyeing the small bit of juice that leaks down his chin. You have to hold yourself from palming your heated mass. You don’t.

Another slap. He pushes your hand away from your lunch, slapping your hot dog on the floor. You choke on a gasp, because next thing you know he’s pushing you by the neck into your shared apartment and whispering in your ear. 

“Duck, duck, goose!” 

You feel a tingle in your nuts and you swear you love it when he gets aggressive like this. It’s hardly ever that he gets aggressive like this. You are his baby boy and he loves you, and he never wants to hurt you. He raised you and he only ever wants to touch you like you’re the rarest of pepes. 

He shoves his hands down your pants until he realizes your not wearing any. 

“I’m not wearing any pants,” you confess and he visibly shudders from above you, his dick lurching in his jogger’s pants.

“God you make me so bothered,” he says. 

“Ping, ping.” You say, tapping your shoes against the floor making its strobe again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ty 2 the yes! yes! yes! yes! i know its p slow right but i swear things will pick up after this chapter when dave FINALLY confesses to dirk. omf. im so excited.


	3. I love you, bro.

Dave's eyes trace over Dirk's, vision searching for anything, something to give him an idea on how he would take this. But, there is nothing, but shades, so he takes off his own then whips off Dirk's, who gasps, eyes bugging out. 

"I love you, bro," Dave pleads with him, kneeling down on his right knee. 

He's almost surprised to find Dirk kneeling down right beside him, reaching out to caress his bent knee.


End file.
